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THE   BORZOI   PLAYS 

I 

WAR 

By  Michael  Artzibashef 

II 

MOLOCH 

By  Beulah  Marie  Dix 

III 

"moral" 

By  Ludwig  Thoma 

IV 

THE   INSPECTOR-GENERAL 
By  Nicolay  Gogol 

V 

HADDA   PADDA 

By  Godmundur  Kamhan 

VI 

NJU 

By  Ossip  Dymozv 

The  Borzoi  Plays  VI 


NJU 


An  everyday  tragedy  translated  by 
Rosalind  Ivan  from  the  Russian  of 


Ossip 
Dymow 


New  York  •  Alfred  A  Knopf  .igi  J 


/ 


COPYRIGHT,  1917,  BY 
OSSIP  DYMOW 

PuUiihed,  September,  1917 


PRINTED   IN  THE   UNITED   STATES   OF   AMERICA 


NJU 
CHARACTERS 

Nju. 

The  Husband. 

He. 

Marie.    (The  nursemaid.) 

KOSTJA. 

The  Father. 

The  Mother. 

Messenger.    (From  a  florist.) 

A  Student. 

A  Guest  at  the  Ball. 

Porter. 

Guests  —  Servants. 

The  scene  is  laid  in  a  large  city. 
Time:  Present. 


370156 


FIRST  PART 


NJU 


FIRST  PART 

Scene  :  The  corner  of  a  hall  room. 

At  Rise:  Music.  From  time  to  time  couples  appear 
dancing. 

Some  elderly  ladies  sit  by  the  wall,  looking  bored. 

Nju  discovered  in  a  cream  colored  ball  dress.  She  has 
just  been  dancing.    He  is  standing  near  her. 

Nju.    How  hot  it  is!     {She  fans  herself) 

I've  seen  you  once  before  at  the  theatre. 

He.    At  the  theatre? 

Nju.    I  sat  exactly  three  rows  behind  you  — 

He.    Yes.? 

Nju.  And  I  wanted  you  to  turn  'round.  Didn't 
you  notice  it.?* 

He.    At  the  theatre?    When  was  that? 

Nju.     You  turned  'round  and  looked  at  me ! 

He.    Did  I?    I  don't  remember.     (He  smiles) 

I  know  one  oughtn't  to  say  such  things  —  it  isn't 
polite.    But   really   I   don't   remember.    I   mean,   if 


10  ......    :;    :  ^       Nju 

I'd  really  looked  at  you.    I*m  sure  I  should  have 
remembered. 

Nju.    Sure? 

He.     I've  never  seen  you  before. 

Nju.  And  I  thought  you  looked  'roimd  because  I 
was  wishing  it. 

He.     What  do  you  mean? 

Nju.  I  stared  hard  at  the  back  of  your  head  and 
kept  saying  to  myself,  "Turn  'round,  dear!"  "Turn 
'round,  dear!" 

He.    Dear? 

Nju.    We  didn't  know  each  other  then. 

He.     Of  course !     I  must  have  looked  pretty  stupid. 
All  men  look  stupid  from  behind. 

Nju.  But  all  the  same,  you  did  turn  'round  and 
look.     Why  don't  you  remember?     I  sat  next  to  — 

(A  young  man  appears,  stands  before  Nju,  and  makes 
a  how.    Nju  rises  and  takes  up  her  train.) 

{To  him) 

Take  my  fan. 

(They  disappear  together.  He  watches  them.  Nju 
comes  back.  She  laughs  exhav^tedly.  The  young  m>an 
conducts  her  to  her  chair,  bows  and  withdraws.) 


Nju  11 

He.  Next  to  whom  were  you  sitting  on  that  occa- 
sion? 

Nju.    Eh? 

He.  You  said  just  now  you  were  sitting  in  the 
theatre  next  to  —  well,  next  to  whom? 

Nju.    Oh!  then!  — I  — 

(At  this  moment,  a  dancer  hurries  in,  sliding  over  the 
polished  floor.  He  bows  to  Nju,  puts  his  arm  around 
her  waist  and  disappears  with  her,  dancing.  He  watches 
her  distractedly.) 

(A  student  comes  running  in,  breathless,  and  seizes 
Nju^s  chair,  intending  to  take  it  away  with  him.) 

He.    This  chair  is  engaged. 

Student.    For  a  lady? 

He.    Engaged. 

Student.    A  lady  is  asking  for  the  chair. 

He.    But  it's  engaged. 

Student.    That's  queer.     (He  goes  of) 

(Nju  comes  back  with  Dancer.) 

The  Dancer.  I'm  terribly  sorry!  Really  I  am! 
Oh,  do,  do  please  forgive  me! 

Nju  (Holding  torn  lace  of  her  dress  in  her  hand). 
I  told  you  that  wasn't  the  Viennese  waltz  that  you 
were  dancing. 


U  Nju 

The  Dancer.  A  Viennese  waltz  in  six  steps.  It 
certainly  was.    Good  Heavens! 

Nju.    Have  you  a  pin? 

The  Dancer.    A  pin?    No.     {He  hands  her  a  pin) 

Nju.    Thank  you.    Now  we  shall  quarrel. 

{She  fastens  the  torn  place.  The  Dancer  tries  to  help 
her.) 

The  Dancer.  It  isn't  noticeable.  Allow  me  to 
introduce  myself. 

{He  murmurs  something  ununderstandable  and  takes 
her  hand.) 

Viennese  waltz,  six  steps.     Certainly. 

{In  making  his  how,  he  bumps  into  another  person  and 
turns  around  quickly.) 

I'm  so  sorry!  I  beg  your  pardon!  A  thousand 
pardons!     {He  exits) 

He.     Well?    Whom  were  you  with  on  that  occasion? 

Nju.  Such  a  bore!  — At  the  theatre?  — With 
my  husband. 

He.    You're  married? 

Nju     {Raising  her  eyebrows).    Why,  certainly. 

{There  is  a  pause  in  the  dancing.  Nju  and  He  are 
silent.  The  music  stops,  and  it  seems  as  if  this  made 
their  silence  more  marked.) 


Nju  13 

Then  you  thought  that  I  was  —  still  a  girl? 

He.  No  —  not  —  a  girl.  One  can  tell  that  at  once. 
But  I  thought  that  you  —  were  free. 

Nju.    Am  I  not  free? 

He.    Well,  your  husband? 

Nju.    Does  that  matter? 

He.    You  think  —  ? 

(Pause) 

Nju.     Tell  me  about  yourself. 

He.    You  read  me. 

Nju.    That's  not  the  same  thing  — 

He.  What  can  I  talk  to  you  about?  A  week  ago  a 
woman  left  me.  (He  watches  her)  There,  you  see! 
It's  strange  how  all  women  drop  their  eyes  at  those 
words. 

Nju.    What?    Did  I? 

He.  Oh,  yes.  Indeed!  It  always  seems  to  be  as 
if  secretly  among  yourselves,  you're  all  in  league 
against  us  men.  And  if  any  one  of  you  makes  us  suf- 
fer, you  all  know  about  it;  yes,  I  believe  it  happens  by 
agreement,  or  by  orders  from  headquarters. 

Nju.  You're  mistaken.  I  didn't  drop  my  eyes  at 
all. 

He.     Give  in.     You  knew  about  it,  too. 

Nju.    About  what? 


14  Nju 

He.  That  she  left  me  —  that  she  was  leavmg. 
You  knew  it.  You  were  forbidden  by  headquarters 
to  speak  about  it.    Own  up! 

Nju.    How  funny  you  are! 

He.    Aha!    You're  concealing  it. 

Nju.    Has  it  upset  you? 

He.  It's  sad;  yet  I  like  this  sadness.  It  seems  to 
me  as  if  I  heard  time  gliding  softly  by  — 

Nju.    Time? 

He.  Time  —  le  temps.  I  love  this  sadness.  Now 
I  only  glide  over  the  surface  of  things  —  I  barely  touch 
them  and  pass  on  —  and  on.  I  pay  gold  for  the  small- 
est thing  that  life  offers  me.  Nobody  knows  about  it. 
I  just  ghde  by  —  That  is  the  right  thing  to  do.  It  is 
the  only  thing  to  do  — 

Nju.  So  you  believe  in  life  after  death.  I  don't 
believe  in  it.  How  could  it  be  possible  that  after 
death  — 

He.  It's  much  more  complicated  than  it  appears. 
I  believe  in  a  cosmic  life. 

(Nju  does  not  understand^  hut  does  not  show  it.  Con- 
fetti and  balloons  are  thrown  on.  Paper-ribbon  streamers 
Jail  in  front  of  Nju.  She  tears  off  a  piece  and  hands  it  to 
him.) 


Nju  15 

Nju,    Write  me  a  story  on  it. 

He.    Good. 

Nju.    Is  there  enough? 

He.    Quite.    There  are  five  yards. 

Nju.    Write  the  story  and  dedicate  it  to  me  in 
remembrance  of  our  meeting  tonight. 

He     (Writing  with  a  pencil  on  the  paper).    Yes. 

Nju     (Looks  over  and  reads).     It  was  in  January  — 

He.    Don't  look.    It  distracts  me. 

Nju.    Will  you  have  it  published  later  on? 

He.    Yes. 

Nju.  How  interesting.  You'll  have  to  finish  up 
exactly  where  the  paper  ends. 

He.    I'll  try  to. 

Nju     (Laughing).    That's  very  interesting. 

He.  That  is  how  the  woman  treats  the  poet.  She 
forces  him  to  concentrate  his  thoughts,  throw  aside 
superfluous  ones  and  keep  only  those  that  are  impor- 
tant. She  says,  "Here  are  five  yards  of  my  life.  I 
make  you  a  present  of  them.  Write  a  fairy  tale  on 
them  and  dedicate  them  to  me."  And  the  poet  has  to 
fill  the  five  yards  of  her  life  with  everything  that  he 
possesses,  and  at  the  right  moment  find  an  appropriate 
ending  because  the  paper  has  given  out  and  the  husband 
approaches. 


16  Nju 

Nju.    The  husband? 

He.    Or  —  somebody  else.     IVe  finished. 
Nju     (Looks  up).    Oh,  there  you  are!    Will  you 
allow  me  to  introduce  you  to  my  husband! 

(The  Husband  enters.     They  bow.) 


CURTAIN 


Nju  17 


Scene  II 

Room  in  the  husband's  house.  Night,  going  on 
toward  morning.    Nju  is  half  lying  on  a  chaise  lounge. 

Her  ball  dress  is  crumpled,  her  fur  wrap  and  hat  are 
lying  on  the  floor . 

Behind  the  scenes  one  hears  the  voice  of  the  husband. 
He  is  saying  "Nju,  little  Nju!'*  Nju  does  not  answer. 
Her  eyes  are  closed. 

Voice  of  the  Husband.    Isn't  it  wonderful,  Nju? 

{Pause) 

You  are  beautiful.  I  love  you,  Nju.  Have  they 
left  anything  out  for  us,  Nju? 

{Nju  says  something  softly  to  herself,  which  is  not 
distinguishable.) 

Voice  of  the  Husband.  —  Have  they  left  any- 
thing out  for  us? 

Nju.    Are  you  hungry,  then? 

Husband  {Appearing  in  the  doorway).    Are  you? 

Nju.    I'm  tired. 

Husband.  You  danced  a  great  deal.  {He  looks  at 
the  clock) 

I  feel  like  a  cup  of  tea. 


18  Nju 

Nju  {Absent-mindedly),    Is  there  any  there? 

Husband.  No.  Even  if  it  were  cold  —  Why  don*t 
you  undress? 

Nju.  You  should  have  told  the  maid  before  we 
went  out. 

Husband.    I'm  asking  you  why  you  don't  undress. 

Nju.    I'm  tired. 

Husband.  You're  so  beautiful,  my  Nju.  Your 
white  dress  is  so  becoming,  you  — 

Nju.    It  isn't  white. 

Husband.    What  is  it,  then? 

Nju.    Cream. 

Husband.  All  right,  cream.  These  dear  little 
hands  —  I  love  you.  When  you  dance  you  look  like  a 
young  girl. 

Nju  (Bitterly).  But  when  we  come  home,  I'm  not 
like  a  young  girl  any  longer. 

Husband  (Laughs).  No.  You're  so  dear,  little 
Nju. 

Nju.    Where  were  you  all  the  time? 

Husband.     I  was  watching  you  dance.     (He  laughs) 

Nju.    What  are  you  laughing  at? 

Husband.    I'll  tell  you.    It's  so  funny. 

Nju.    You're  crushing  my  dress. 

Husband.    Oh,    this    lace!    Forgive    me.    I    was 


Nju  19 

watching  you  at  a  distance,  and  I  was  thinking,  "All 
these  people  are  working  so  hard  for  my  benefit — " 
You  understand  me,  don't  you? 

Nju.    I  don't  understand. 

Husband.  These  attentions,  flowers,  these  hand- 
pressures  — 

Nju.    What  nonsense.    What  hand-pressures? 

Husband.  Well,  this  whole  atmosphere  works  on 
the  nerves  rather  —  doesn't  it? 

Nju.    Yes.    What  then? 

Husband.  The  woman  is  excited;  her  eyes  sparkle; 
her  movements  become  charming  and  fascinating. 
Then  the  ball  comes  to  an  end.  The  men  kiss  the 
ladies'  hands,  gaze  into  their  eyes  and  take  their 
departure.  At  this  moment,  the  husband  appears  on 
the  scene  and  — 

Nju.    And?  — 

Husband.  And  her  whole  excitement  seems  to 
come  as  a  gift  to  him.  Really,  one  could  go  to  all 
these  people  and  thank  them  —  Oh,  Lord,  if  I  only  had 
a  cup  of  tea!     {He  yawns) 

Nju.  Why  did  you  do  it?  . ,  We  are  scarcely  inside 
the  house  when  you  force  yourself  upon  me.  Leave 
me  alone  .  .  .  Every  time,  every  time  it's  the  same 
thing  — 


20  Nju 

Husband.    Is  it  my  fault  that  you  are  so  beautiful? 

Nju.  Every  time.  I  thought  I'd  come  home  and 
dream  away  the  whole  night.  I*d  lock  the  door  and 
sit  all  alone  in  my  room.     Dressed! 

Husband.    You  silly  little  girl! 

Nju.  Yes,  like  a  silly  girl.  Then  I  wanted  to  write 
a  letter;  I  didn't  know  myself  to  whom.  To  you  per- 
haps. I  wanted  to  lock  myself  in,  and  you  were  not 
to  know. 

Husband.  Can't  you  still  do  it?  I'm  not  prevent- 
ing you  —  am  I? 

Nju.  Now  it's  all  over.  Everything  has  gone  — 
gone!  I'm  tired,  I  can't  think  of  anything.  I  only 
want  to  sleep  —  I'm  limp.     Why  did  you  do  it? 

Husband.    Oh,  God!    I  love  you  so. 

Nju.  Thief!  You're  a  thief!  You  take  other 
people's  property! 

Husband.  Um  —  that  sounds  like  the  poet,  your 
—  new  acquaintance. 

Nju.  Leave  him  alone.  You're  like  a  cold  shower. 
You  extinguish  every  spark  that's  in  me. 

Husband.  And  you'd  like  —  Well,  what  would  you 
like  then? 

Nju.     Go  away.     I'd  like  to  sleep. 

(Husband  walks  up  and  down  the  room.) 


Nju  21 

Husband.    I  don't  understand  you.    If  — 
Njv-     Go.     Good  night.     (Husband  exits) 

(Nju  gets  up,  turns  off  the  electric  lights  as  it  is  getting 
lighter  outside,  and  begins  slowly  to  undress.  She  takes 
something  out  of  her  pocket  and  goes  to  the  window.  What 
she  holds  is  the  strip  of  paper-ribbon.  She  slowly  unrolls 
it,  and  first  reads  it  softly  to  herself,  then  aloud.  From 
outside  the  reflection  from  the  dazzling  snow,  which  lights 
up  the  window,  streams  in  upon  her  tired  face.  She 
reads: 

"It  was  in  January.  A  faint  glow  of  spring  ap- 
peared over  the  earth.  Nobody  knew  it.  Only  the 
women  guessed  it.  —  They  stood,  at  a  dance  in  winter 
with  a  snow-storm  outside,  and  tore  off  five  yards 
from  a  long  paper  streamer  that  came  flying  by,  and 
said  to  the  poet,  *  Write  me  a  fairy  tale.*  From  their 
youth  that  was  flying  by  they  tore  off  a  five-yard  strip, 
and  stretched  out  their  hands  —  and  handed  the  strip 
to  the  poet  and  said,  *  Write  a  fairy  tale  on  it  and 
dedicate  it  — '  " 

(She  breaks  off.  Her  hands  which  are  holding  the 
paper  drop  by  her  side.  It  is  as  if  something  held  her 
chained.) 

(The  Husband  comes  in.) 


22  Nju 

Husband.    Njura! 

{He  is  silent  for  a  moment.     Then  he  speaks,  deeply 
moved,  almost  prophetically.) 

Njure,  I  feel  as  if  something  has  happened.     I  don't 
know  —  Something  has  happened. 

(Nju  stands  without  moving,  without  turning  her  head. 
The  paper  streamer  falls  to  the  ground  and  unrolls  itself.) 


CURTAIN 


Nju  23 

Scene  III 

A  room  in  the  husband's  house. 

He.    YouVe  comfortable  quarters  here. 

Husband  {Showing  him  some  embroidery).  She 
embroidered  this. 

He.    Who? 

Husband.  She,  Njura.  You  embroidered  this, 
didn't  you  dear? 

He.    Very  interesting. 

Nju.    Oh,  do  stop.    That's  all  nonsense. 

Husband.    She  can  draw  too. 

He.     What,  you  draw? 

Nju.     Now  really  why  should  that  interest  any  one? 

He.     Well,  why  not? 

Husband.  If  you  only  knew  in  what  a  curious  way 
we  got  to  know  each  other!  Did  she  tell  you?  Did 
you  tell  him? 

Nju.    N-no. 

Husband.  Well,  it  was  at  a  summer  bathing  place. 
I  was  at  a  concert  and  suddenly  I  saw  Nju  with  her 
Mother.  I  didn't  know  who  she  was  and  still  I  said 
to  myself,  *'She  or  none." 

He.    I  envy  you. 

Husband.    What? 


24  Nju 

He.  To  know  at  the  first  glance  it  is  she  or  none, 
that  is  happiness! 

Husband.  Yes,  you  know  we  corresponded  for  over 
six  months  without  knowing  each  other.  Here  are  all 
our  letters.     (He  points  to  a  handsome  chest) 

He.    What  letters? 

Husband.    Our  letters.    Hers  and  mine. 

Nju.    Over  four  pounds. 

Husband.    How  do  you  know? 

Nju.    I  weighed  them. 

Husband.    When  did  you  do  that? 

Nju.    I  weighed  them. 

Husband.    What  a  joke!    Whatever  for? 

He.    How    remarkable. 

Husband     (Taking    the    chest).    Yes.     But    why 
What  is  there  to  laugh  at? 

He.    It    is    so    remarkable   that    these   letters 
quietly  side  by  side  and  that  you  are  talking  aboui 
them.    Do  you  know  I  have  never  believed  it  possibl 
I've  never  pictured  such  a  thing  to  myself.     I 
absolutely  convinced   that  such  letters  could  nevi 
meet  .  .  .  and  lie  side  by  side. 

Nju.    How  do  you  mean? 

He.    I  don*t  know.    IVe  never  written  any 
on  this  theme. 


Nju  25 

Njd.  In  your  opinion  what  should  be  done  with 
such  letters? 

He.  I  don't  know.  Tear  them  up,  bum  them!  I 
see  this  sort  of  thing  for  the  first  time. 

Nju.    Over  four  pounds! 

Husband.  No,  we  shall  save  them.  When  Kostja 
is  grown  up,  we  shall  give  them  to  him. 

(A  pile  of  letters  is  lying  on  the  table.) 

He  {After  a  pause).    Oh,  yes,  of  course,  your  son. 

Nju.    How  curious  it  is  to  touch  them. 

(She  looks  through  the  letters  and  reads.) 

Do  you  know,  my  handwriting  has  changed. 

He.  Handwriting  changes  with  the  color  of  the 
hair. 

Nju  (Reddening).  When  did  I  write  this  to  you? 
Did  I  write  this  to  you? 

Husband.    Show  me. 

(He  takes  the  letter  roughly  from  his  wife's  hand  vnthout 
apologizing  for  his  rudeness  of  noticing  it  —  he  reads  it 
and  laughs  over  it.) 

You  certainly  did. 

Nju.    No. 

Husband.    Do  you  suppose  I  have  added  anything? 

Nju.    I  can't  have  written  that.    That's  nonsense. 


26  Nju  I 

Husband.  We've  decided  to  give  these  letters  to 
our  son  when  he  is  grown  up. 

He.  It  must  be  painful  to  read  these  letters  over 
again. 

Husband.  Painful?  On  the  contrary,  it's  very 
interesting.  I  often  ask  her  what  she  thinks  about 
this  or  that  sentence.     I  read  them  over  in  the  evenings. 

Nju.     They're  dead  and  done  with. 

Husband.    Another  new  interest  came  in  their  place. 

Nju.    a  read  letter  is  dead. 

Husband.    Yes,  something  came  in  their  place. 

He.     They  can  rise  again. 

Husband.  How  can  letters  rise  again?  Something 
new,  better  came  in  their  place.  Get  married  and  then 
you'll  know. 

{Nju  reads  quietly  to  herself  and  hurriedly  hides  the 
letter.) 

What's  that? 

Nju.    This  .  .  .  Oh,  the  concert! 

Husband.    What  concert ! 

Nju.     The  concert  in  the  Autumn. 

Husband.  Oh,  yes,  I  remember.  Tell  me,  how  can 
letters  rise  again? 

Nju  {Glancing  at  the  letter).  No,  that's  really  good. 
{Reads) 


Nju  27 

"I  lay  my  youth  in  your  hands.  Take  care  of  it. 
Some  day  I  shall  ask  you  for  it  back."  That's  good 
isn't  it? 

He.  Yes,  it  is.  Who  wrote  that,  your  husband, 
or  .  .  . 

Nju.     I,  of  course.     I  couldn't  write  like  that  now. 

Husband.  She's  done  a  couple  of  drawings.  Some 
of  them  are  very  good.  Show  them,  won't  you.'*  {He 
goes  to  the  door) 

Nju.  Don't  dare.  I  don't  want  you  to.  I'll  tear 
them  up. 

Husband.    They  please  me.     {He  exits) 

Nju  {Calling  after  him) .     Don't  please ! 

He.  I  must  go.  I've  been  here  since  noon  and 
now  it  is  .  .  . 

{He  looks  at  his  watch  and  snaps  the  gold  lid.) 

Oh! 

Nju.  No,  wait  until  my  husband  comes  back.  It 
would  be  noticeable.  When  shall  I  see  you  again, 
tomorrow? 

He.    Tomorrow  I  am  — 

Nju.    I  want  to. 

He.    Very  well  then,  tomorrow. 

Nju.     Oh  God,  what  am  I  doing? 

He.    It  has  to  be. 


28  Nju 

Nju.    For  whom?    For  what?  s 

He.     It  has  to  be.     We  may  as  well  give  in. 

Nju.  Only  not  to  think!  Do  you  know  I  suffer 
from  hallucinations !  It  seems  as  if  a  hand-organ  were 
constantly  playing  near  me. 

He.     Perhaps  one  really  is  playing. 

Nju.  No,  but  directly  I  begin  to  think  the  hand- 
organ  is  there. 

He.    That  is  nerves.     (Long  pause) 

Nju  {Reads  a  letter  in  a  low  voice  with  peculiar 
emphasis  and  watches  Him  at  the  same  time). 

"I  am  obstinate,  moody.  I  want  attention  from 
everyone.     I  can't  live  without  being  petted." 

{The  Husband  appears  in  the  door,  holding  his  wife's 
dravnngs  in  his  hand.  He  smiles,  remains  standing  and 
listens.) 

Nju  {Reading).  "I  lay  my  youth  in  your  hands. 
Take  care  of  it.  Some  day  I  shall  ask  you  for  it 
back.'* 

Husband  {Drops  the  drawings,  his  fojce  is  distorted, 
he  tears  the  letter  out  of  her  hand,  his  voice  gets  sharp  and 
begins  to  show  irritation).     Stop  that  reading! 

{Long  pause.  The  ticking  of  the  clock  which  was  not 
noticeable    before    can    be    heard   distinctly    now.     The 


Nju  29 

Husband  puts  the  letters  back  in  the  chesty  and  replaces 
it  where  it  belongs.) 

Nju     (Hastily  —  hypocritically).     My  head  aches. 

(Everyone  is  silent.     The  clock  ticks.) 

Husband  (Turns  to  Him  and  looks  Him  straight  in 
the  face).    Yes,  letters  can  rise  again! 


CURTAIN 


PART  TWO 


PART  TWO 

Scene  IV 

In  the  husband's  house.  The  interior  of  the  room  is 
indistinguishable  because  the  light  is  out.  The  light  of 
a  large  street  lamp  shines  in  at  the  window.  At  first  it 
is  not  quite  clear  who  is  talking,  because  the  occupants  are 
not  speaking  in  their  usual  tones. 

Nju.  My  beloved,  my  dear  one.  Oh,  how  happy  I 
am  with  you. 

He.    You,  my  dear  little  girl. 

Nju.  How  happy  I  am.  IVe  been  married  eight 
years,  I  have  a  child,  and  yet  I've  never  known  this. 

He.    What? 

Nju.    Love.    I  didn't  know  love. 

He.     My  little  girl! 

Nju.     Beloved,  dearest! 

He.     What's  the  matter.?    You're  crying. 

Nju.    No. 

He.     Your  eyes  are  wet.     You're  crying. 

Nju.  I  don't  know  why.  All  the  tears  I've  kept 
back  are  breaking  out  now.  They're  coming  of  them- 
selves.   Is  that  love?    Yes!    That  is  love. 


34  Nju 

He.  I  feel  somehow  depressed.  Whenever  I  come 
near  a  woman  —  {Nju  hisses  Him) 

Whenever  I  come  near  a  woman  — 

Nju  (Kissing  Him).     Don't.    You  mustn't  — 

He.     What  mustn't  I? 

Nju.     I  don't  want  you  to  talk  of  other  women.       I 

He.  No,  I'm  simply  saying  that  such  moments  are 
always  sad,  so  beautifully  sad.  Do  you  understand 
that? 

Nju.    Yes.    Like  a  death-warning. 

He.    As  before  death? 

Nju.    I  see  only  your  eyes. 

He.  I  feel  as  though  years  and  years  ago  we  hac 
quarreled,  and  now  we're  reconciled.  All  ugly  things 
and  all  past  suffering  are  forgiven.  Do  you  feel  that? 
Our  enmity  was  so  strong  that  even  our  bodies  hated 
each  other.  And  now  we  are  so  close,  close  together. 
We  have  forgiven  every  grievance  utterly.  Doesn't 
it  seem  that  way  to  you,  too? 

Nju.    To  die  —  both  — 

He.  When  I  talk  with  you,  it's  like  thinking  aloud. 
These  dear,  still  hands.     Your  hands  are  so  poetic. 

Nju.     Why  is  it  all  beautiful,  so  beautiful? 

He.    When  I  was  seventeen,  I  was  once  staying 
a  friend  in  the  country. 


Nju  35 

(Long  pause) 

It  was  night.  In  one  of  the  large,  uninhabited  rooms 
I  had  a  meeting  with  his  sister  —  I  don't  remember  her 
face.  The  moon  shone  brightly.  It  was  full  moon. 
And  even  today  I  cannot  forget  her  white  cold,  trans- 
parent hands  .  .  .  When  I  think  how  my  youth  has 
slipped  by,  then  I  look  back,  through  the  gray  mist 
and  see  this  maiden's  delicate  bare  hands  —  I  kissed 
them  over  and  over  again,  for  many  hours.  I  couldn't 
see  enough  of  them.  I've  never  lived  through  anything 
more  beautiful.  —  Isn't  it  strange,  it  all  lies  so  far 
behind  me.  Fifteen  years;  and  yet  it  doesn't  seem  as 
if  it  were  behind,  but  rather  ahead,  in  the  future,  and 
as  if  the  pale,  cool  hands  were  waiting  for  me  in  the 
greenish  mist  and  the  moonlight.  —  Somewhere  there 
is  an  empty,  uninhabited  room  waiting  for  me.  The 
moon  is  shining  in  at  the  window,  black  shadows  cover 
the  floor,  and  I  only  need  to  enter  —  Your  hands  are 
splendid,  but  hers  were  cool  —  the  curious  coolness  of 
May  in  the  moonlight.  I  kissed  her  and  never  let  go 
of  her  hands,  but  I  couldn't  warm  them  —  Perhaps  it 
only  seems  that  way  to  me  now  — 

Nju.    Yes,  it  only  seems  that  way  to  you  now! 

He.    And  now  I  have  met  her  again. 

(Pause) 


36  Nju 

I  have  met  her  again. 

(Pause) 

Yes,  it  is  like  a  death- warning. 

Nju.     Tell  me  that  you  only  love  me. 

He.  Only  you,  only  your  cool  exquisite,  girl's  hands 
in  the  gray  mist. 

Nju.  Why  is  it  I  met  you  so  late?  Oh!  the  time 
I've  had  to  live  without  you,  my  dear  one,  my  lover!    Z 

He.     Every  beginning  in  life  seems  delayed. 

Nju.     How  could  I  live  without  you  in  the  darkness? 

He.  What  a  distance  lies  behind  us!  What  a  long 
lane  of  enmity!  I  remember  only  those  wonderful 
hands.  I've  waited  for  them  —  And  you,  what  do 
you  remember? 

Nju.  I  still  think  of  how  you  once  kissed  my  hands, 
in  the  empty  room  one  night,  by  the  light  of  the  moon. 

He.     Yes.     Yes.  —  The  same  hands 

Nju.     They  burn  because  they  love  you  so. 

He.     Because  they  love  me  so. 

Nju.     My  heart  is  like  them. 

He.  Don't  ever  demand  anything  of  me.  Never 
ask  anything  of  me. 

Nju  (Softly).     I  demand  nothing. 

He.     The  woman  always  makes  some  demand. 


Nju  37 

Nju.  No.  I  don't  want  anything  from  you.  I 
only  want  to  love  you. 

He.  I  can't  give  myself  to  you  entirely;  for  then  I 
should  be  a  beggar  and  you  would  turn  away  from  me. 

Nju.     I  shall  only  go  on  loving  you  more. 

He.  I  know  that.  But  I  beg  of  you,  not  to  demand 
anything  of  me.  Don't  exhaust  me  —  otherwise  I 
should  — 

Nju.  I  will  accept  everything  from  you  —  every- 
thing that  comes  to  me  from  you  —  every  sorrow;  yes, 
even  death.     We  won't  ever  part. 

He.  We  won't  ever  part,  my  dear  little  girl,  my 
splendid  friend!  I  won't  call  you  to  life;  no,  to  a  fairy 
tale. 

Nju.     I  will  bear  everything  for  you. 

He.  We  will  live  a  fairy  tale,  the  fairy  tale  of  the 
primeval  enemies,  Man  and  Woman,  who  have  made 
peace  and  shaken  hands. 

{There  is  repeated  knocking  at  the  door.) 

Nju  (Anxiously).     What  is  it? 

Marie  (Opens  the  door  a  little).  He  is  coming.  (She 
disappears) 

(Nju  hurries  to  the  table  and  turns  on  the  electric  light 
Now  one  can  see  that  this  is  all  taking  place  in  the  hus- 
band's home.) 


38  Nju 

Nju  (To  Him).     Please  go. 

He.  Where  should  I  go.'*  Why.^  Don't  do  any- 
thing. 

Nju.     I  can  settle  things  alone. 
He.     No.     I  shan't  go. 

{They  are  silent.  They  neither  look  at  the  door  nor  at 
each  other  —  Pause.) 

How  disgusting! 

Nju.     I  beg  you  to  go. 

{The  door  opens  and  the  Husband  comes  in.  Without 
turning  his  head,  he  takes  in  the  whole  situation  at  a 
glance.  He  is  pale.  He  sits  down.  One  sees,  without 
actually  hearing^  that  he  is  breathing  heavily.  Nju  does 
not  turn  around  and  behaves  as  though  she  has  not  seen 
him.  He^  on  the  contrary,  looks  the  Husband  straight  in 
the  eyes.) 

He  {In  a  perfectly  controlled  voice).  You  didn't  find 
him  in? 

Husband  {Ju^t  as  quietly).    No.    He  wasn't  in. 
Nju.     My  head  aches. 

{He  and  Nju  speak  together,  ignoring  the  Husband. 
Her  voice  seems  somewhat  strained.  The  Husband  does 
not  look  at  her.) 


Nju  39 

He.    You  have  a  headache? 

Nju.    Yes. 

He.    How  did  you  get  it? 

Nju.    I  don't  know. 

He.  Don't  leave  flowers  in  your  room  at  night. 
It's  bad  for  you  to  breathe  carbonic  acid. 

Nju.  Oh,  yes!  Thank  you  for  the  flowers.  I'm  so 
fond  of  flowers. 

He.  I'm  glad  that  you  —  that  you  —  Don't  you 
think  it  wiser  to  lie  down,  as  you  have  a  headache? 

Nju.    Yes.    I'll  lie  down. 

He  {Taking  out  his  watch).  You  know  it  isn't  very 
early.  You  may  think  it  is,  but  it's  after  ten  o'clock. 
Yes,  and  my  watch  is  fast.   (To  the  Husband) 

What  does  yours  say? 

Husband  (Taking  out  his  watch).  Half  —  twenty- 
five  minutes  after  ten. 

He  (Rising).  There,  I  ought  to  have  left  some  time 
ago.     I  wish  you  — 

(He  takes  his  leave  of  Nju.) 

Nju.    Till  tomorrow,  then? 

He.     Good.    Till  tomorrow. 

Nju  (To  her  Husband)    Oh,  will  you  see  Mr.  — ? 

Husband  (Rising,  controlling  himself).  Yes.  (Nju 
exits) 


40  Nju 

(Jle  says  good  night,  and  goes  to  the  door.) 

He.    Do  you  know  the  story  of  the  Jew  who  was 
travellmg  on  the  Contment  and  — ? 
Husband.    What  story? 

{They  go  into  the  ante-room,  where  the  conversation  is 
continued.) 

He.  Well,  a  Jew  was  travelling  with  his  wife  on  the 
Continent  — 

Husband.    I  should  like  to  ask  you  — 

He.    With  pleasure. 

Husband.    — not  to  come  here  tomorrow  — 

He.  What  do  you  mean  by  that?  Not  to  come  — 
not  to  come  to  see  you? 

Husband.    Yes.    Not  to  come  to  see  us. 

He  {Coming  back  into  the  room).     Why  not? 

{He  has  half  put  on  his  overcoat,  one  sleeve  of  which  is 
hanging  down.) 

Is  it  your  wish,  or  your  wife's? 

Husband.  My  wife!  My  wife  would  rather  you 
never  went  away. 

He.  Now  we're  in  for  it!  I  congratulate  you.  A 
little  scene  of  jealousy. 

Husband.    We  must  talk  this  over  man  to  man. 


Nju  41 

He.    Talk  over  what? 

Husband.  That's  not  nice.  You  know  very  well 
it  isn't. 

He.    You're  nervous. 

Husband.  I  think  any  man  would  be  nervous  in 
my  position.  This  is  getting  worse  and  worse,  until 
I  really  don't  know  what  to  do.  When  we're  alone 
together  you  never  make  any  attempt  to  be  straight- 
forward and  clear  matters  up,  but  instead  you  begin  to 
tell  me  stories  about  an  Armenian  who's  travelling  on 
the  Continent. 

He.    About  a  Jew. 

Husband.    Yes,  you  may  well  laugh. 

He.     I'm  not  laughing. 

Husband.  Well,  we'll  see  whether  you'll  laugh 
later  on.    As  long  as  you  don't  have  occasion  to  cry  — 

(His  voice,  which  until  now  has  been  quite  quiet, 
becomes  sharp,   shrill  and  nervous.) 

As  long  as  there's  nothing  to  cry  about. 

He.     Don't  shout  so.    You  —  a  well-bred  man! 

Husband.  I'm  at  home,  and  here  I  can  shout  as  loud 
as  I  choose. 

He.  All  right.  But  your  wife  is  lying  down.  She's 
ill. 


42  Nju 

Husband.  You  don't  need  to  wony  yourself  about 
my  wife  any  more  than  I  do.  I  beg  you  most  earnestly 
—  Forget  —  Oh,  don't  come  here  again,  please.  Never 
again. 

He.  Now  what  good  would  it  do  you.  Supposing 
I  discontinue  my  visits? 

Husband.    She  will  forget  you. 

He.  Are  you  sure  then  that  we  shouldn't  see  each 
other  any  more?  You  want  to  get  back  your  peace  of 
mind,  that's  all. 

Husband.  I  want  to  preserve  my  family.  I  have 
a  son. 

He.     Who  wants  to  take  your  son  away  from  you? 

Husband.     She  is  the  mother  of  my  child. 

He.     She  was. 

Husband.    She  shan't  disgrace  my  name. 

He.     Listen  —  dear  friend. 

Husband.     I  am  not  your  dear  friend. 

He.  Why  not?  I  am  very  fond  of  you.  You're  a 
clever  man.  God  knows  all  this  is  a  lot  of  useless  talk. 
"Mother  of  child  —  honour  my  name"  —  That's  all 
old  fashioned.  Such  a  thing  as  being  dishonoured 
doesn't  exist  at  all  —  Rubbish. 

Husband.    She'll  not  see  you  again. 

He.     But  you'll  admit  —  it  is  too  trivial — 


Nju  43 

All  this  is  nothing  but  useless  talk  — 

{Husband  takes  out  a  revolver  and  holds  it  by  his  side. 
In  talking  he  shakes  his  head  violently.) 
'      Husband.     No,  sir  —  not  too  trivial  for  me  —  Now, 
that's  quite  enough. 

He.    Oho! 

Husband.    We'll  see  whether  you'll  sneer  later  on. 

He.  You  consider  yourself  a  well-bred  man  and  go 
through  all  this  nonsense  — 

Husband.  Well-bred  man  indeed! — And  you.^^ 
What  are  you?  I  make  this  stipulation  — I  give  you 
until  tomorrow  —  if  you  — 

He.     I  don't  want  to  hear  your  stipulation  — 

Husband.     I  give  you  until  tomorrow  —  if  you  — 

He.  I'm  .sorry  for  you.  I  like  you  —  There's 
nothing  dishonorable  in  that,  is  there?  This  might 
happen  to  anyone  —  I  myself  have  lived  through  a 
similar  experience  and  also  clutched  the  revolver  —  A 
woman  who  has  left  me  is  not  to  be  won  back. 

Husband.     I  don't  want  to  be  the  deceived  —  one. 

He  {Beginning  to  get  excited).  Who's  deceiving  you? 
No  one  is  deceiving  you! 

Husband  {Looks  at  him  —  it  comes  into  his  mind  that 
'perhaps  his  suspicion  and  jealousy  may  be  without 
foundation). 


44  Nju 

You  mean  —  no  —  one? 

He.  Am  I  deceiving  you  then?  The  affair  is  quite 
clear  — 

(What  happens  now  is  hard  to  understand  —  scuffling, 
shuffling  take  place.  The  table  and  lamp  are  overturned 
and  the  lamp  is  extinguished.  One  canH  tell  who  has 
upset  it.  The  crash  of  the  breaking  of  the  globe  is  heard  — 
Then  there  is  a  weird  silence.  Both  men  wrestle  in  the 
dark  —  they  seem  to  be  struggling  together  on  the  floor.) 

A  Voice.    You  —  a  well-bred  man ! 

{There  is  a  sound  like  a  box  on  the  ears.) 

A  Voice.    Hell!    That's  my  eyes! 

{Suddenly  four  loud  shots  are  fired  —  one  after  another. 
Then  there  is  quiet.  Nju  and  Marie  rush  in  from  the 
dining  room.) 

Voices.  What  has  happened?  Why  is  it  dark? 
Why  is  it  so  dark?  Who  fired  here?  My  God  —  who 
is  there? 

He     Calm  yourself  —  I  am  unhurt. 

Nju.     Why  is  it  so  dark?     Who  fired? 

He.    Your  husband  —  Are  you  still  alive? 

{Pause) 

Marie.    The  master  has  been  shot! 


Nju  45 

Nju   {Interrupts   her   angrily  —  The   lover's   instinct 
awakens  in  her  and  she  feels  herself  a  partner  in  the  crime) . 
Be  quiet! 

Marie.    Oh!    Our  master  —  The  poor  master! 
Nju.    Be  quiet! 

{To  Him) 

Where  is  he? 

He.    Here  somewhere. 

Husband.    I  —  here. 

He.    Then  you're  not  wounded? 

Husband.    No. 

He.    Ah,  God  be  thanked.    Everybody's  all  right. 

Nju.    Turn  on  the  light.     (Marie  exits) 

He.    The  lamp  has  fallen  over. 

Husband.     You  thank  God? 

He.     Certainly  we  can  thank  God  that  everything 
has  turned  out  like  this. 

{Marie  enters  with  a  light  —  She  has  Kostja  who  is 
crying  in  her  arms.) 

Kostja.    Mama,  why  are  the  soldiers  shooting?    I 
can't  sleep. 

Marie.    Nice  goings  on!    God  saye  us! 

Nju.    Where's  the  revolver?    Give  it  to  me  at  once. 

Kostja.    Papa,  did  the  soldiers  fire  at  you? 


46  Nju 

He  {To  Kostja).  Nobody  has  fired  here.  You  were 
only  dreaming. 

Kostja.     Go  away,  go  away.    I  don*t  like  you! 

Nju.     Marie,  take  the  child  away. 

Mabie.  I  wish  I  could  take  him  away  altogether 
—  What  on  earth  is  the  matter  here?  Frightening  the 
child  like  that! 

Husband  (To  Kostja).  My  dear  boy,  my  precious 
child  — 

Kostja.    You  mustn't  shoot  any  more. 

Nju.  Take  the  child  away,  Marie.  I've  already 
told  you  once. 

{Marie  goes  vnth  Kostja  to  the  door.) 
{Excitedly  to  the  Husband.) 

You  have  no  consideration  for  me  whatsoever  —  All 
the  servants  know  it  by  now  all  over  the  house.  I 
won't  endure  living  with  such  a  man  any  longer. 

He.  Just  see  where  the  bullets  hit.  Now  isn't  that 
remarkable  — ? 

Nju.  I  won't  endure  this  life  any  longer  —  If  only 
you  had  shot  me !    I  can't  stand  it  any  longer  — 

Husband.    Nor  I  — 

Nju.  Tomorrow  you'll  strangle  me.  It's  down- 
right hell  for  both  of  us. 


Nju  47 

Husband.     But  I  tell  you  one  thing  —  if  you  go  — 
you  go  for  good  — 

Nju.    I  shall  certainly  not  come  back  again  — 

Husband.     And  Kostja  stays  with  me. 

KosTJA.     Mother,  where  are  you  going? 

Nju.     My  God,  what's  that? 

Husband  {In  a  monotone).    Then  we  part  — ? 

Nju.    There's  nothing  so  frightful  about  that.     Look 
around,  it  happens  every  day  —  Every  day  — 

Kostja  (Restless).    Where  are  you  going.  Mama? 
i     Nju  (To  the  Husband).    I  dare  say  it  will  be  hard  on 
you  to  let  me  go  and  not  see  me  again  —  you  must 
forget  me  — 

Husband.     I'll  travel  abroad  with  the  child.     I'm 
in  the  way  here  anyhow. 

Nju.    It  will  be  hard  for  me  not  to  see  Kostja 
again  — 

Husband.    I  never  thought  —  that  it  would  come 
so  soon.    Ten  years! 

Nju.    It  was  bound  to  come. 

Husband.    Think  it  over,  Njura.    Perhaps  you're 
making  a  mistake. 

Nju.    No,  no,  no,  I  am  leaving  you  —  Everything 
is  at  an  end. 

Husband.    And  if  — 


48  Nju 

Nju.  And  if  he  turns  me  out,  I  shall  not  come  back 
to  you.  I  shall  lie  in  wait  for  him  at  the  door  —  I  shall 
never  come  back  to  you.  Don't  expect  me.  Don't 
have  the  faintest  hope. 

Husband.    Why? 

Nju.  I  don't  want  you  to  imagine  that  you  have 
any  right  over  me  —  We  are  strangers  — 

He.  How  can  you  be  so  cruel  —  without  a  spark 
of  goodness. 

Nju.  Do  I  say  I'm  good?  I'm  bad  —  I'm  a  bad 
mother  and  an  even  worse  wife.  I'm  not  worthy  of 
being  loved  — 

Husband.  I  never  thought  that  it  would  come  so 
soon  — 

{Suddenly  the  bell  rings  at  the  front  door.) 

Nju  {Whispering).  Who  is  that?  —  So  late  — 
Marie,  see  who  it  is. 

Marie  {Has  given  the  child  to  him  and  goes  to  the  door) . 
Who  is  there? 

{Pause) 

What?  What  do  jpu  want? 

{Pause) 

{Voices  are  heard  the  other  side  of  the  door.) 

The  family  are  asleep. 


Nju  49 

Nju.    What  is  the  matter — ? 

Marie  {Frightened  —  quite  quickly).  The  superin- 
tendent and  the  porter  are  there. 

He.  Congratulations  —  The  porter!  Nice  story! 
Wait  a  moment,  Marie  —  don't  open  yet.  Where  is 
the  revolver?  Give  it  to  me  here.  Now  the  table  — 
that's  it. 

{He  puts  everything  in  order.) 

Marie  —  go  —  Oh,  no,  you  stay.  There !  The  lamp 
has  fallen  over  —  that  is  all  —  only  keep  cool  — 

{The  bell  rings  again.) 

That  you  should  —  only  keep  cool !    ( To  the  Husband) 

Don't  look  around  so  wildly  —  that  gives  it  away. 
Nothing  has  happened.  The  lamp  has  just  fallen  over. 
Look  cheerful,  as  they  say.  There  —  now  you  can 
open  the  door. 

{His  face  wears  an  unnatural  expression.) 

You  understand,  don't  you  —  A  Jew  is  travelling  on 
the  Continent  with  his  wife  and  they  go  to  the  theatre  — 
Nju.     What's  that.?    To  the  theatre? 

{Marie  opens  the  door.) 

CURTAIN 


50  Nju 

Scene  V 

A  room  in  the  husband's  house.  Nju  is  sleeping. 
The  window  is  lighted  by  the  moon.  The  black- 
shadows  of  the  cross  bars  of  the  window-pane  appear  on 
the  floor  as  a  parallelogram;  during  the  scene  it  takes  on 
the  form  of  a  right  angle.  Articles  of  clothing  are  lying 
about  untidily.  Some  one  tries  the  door  from  the  outside, 
Nju  gets  up  and  stares  frightened  toward  the  door.  Her 
heart  seems  to  stand  still.  Suddenly  the  door  crashes 
opeuy  because  the  lock  has  been  burst.  Nju  gives  a  horri- 
fied cry  and  puts  her  head  quickly  under  the  cover.  The 
Husband  comes  in  and  sinks  on  his  knees  before  Nju. 

Husband.  Njura,  Njura!  What  shall  I  do,  I  love 
you  so?  I  couldn't  sleep.  I've  been  lying  two  hours 
without  being  able  to  sleep.  I  won't  do  anything  to 
hurt  you  —  Why  are  you  afraid  of  me?  Don't  be 
frightened.  I  won't  do  anything  to  him.  I  am  your 
friend,  Njura,  not  your  husband,  only  a  friend,  friend 
to  you  both  —  Why  won't  you  talk  to  me  any  more, 
why  do  you  avoid  me,  as  if  I  were  a  useless  dirty  rag? 
I  am  friend  to  you  both  —  This  can't  go  on  as  it  is  — 
Something  must  be  done.  Do  you  hear  me?  Why 
don't  you  answer  —  Ah  —  'tis  the  same  to  me  —  I 


Nju  51 

kiss  your  coverlet.  You  have  left  me  —  You  love 
someone  else  —  I  kiss  your  coverlet  —  I  only  want  the 
best  for  you.  I'll  go  away  and  not  disturb  you.  Far 
away  —  I  know  —  the  third  is  always  in  the  way.  I'll 
take  Kostja  with  me  and  live  with  him.  We'll  wait 
for  you.  And  if  you  will,  you  can  come  back  to  us  at 
any  time.  If  only  your  pride  does  not  hold  you  back 
—  Don't  be  afraid  —  Come  back  to  us.  I  want  to 
thank  you  for  the  ten  years,  which  you  have  given  me. 
You  were  always  merry,  and  sang  like  a  little  bird. 
You  were  like  the  sun  and  lighted  my  life.  You  are 
mother  —  yes,  you  are  the  mother  of  my  child.  Isn't 
that  enough?  For  everything  —  that  you  have  given 
me  —  and  you  didn't  deceive  me  —  told  me  every- 
thing like  a  friend.  You  have  a  sincere,  proud  heart. 
Your  whole  life  is  beautiful. 

Nju.     I  shall  never  come  back  to  you. 

Husband.  He  will  leave  you  Njura.  Then  where 
will  you  go?     He  doesn't  love  you. 

Nju.     Oh,  don't .  .  . 

Husband.  He  will  leave  you.  I'm  sorry  for  you  — 
What  are  you  going  to  do?  You're  blind  —  the  world 
will  — 

Nju.     What  does  that  matter  to  me? 

Husband.     You're  blind.     What  you  are  doing  with 


52  Nju 

yourself  is  too  terrible.  In  about  a  year  he  will  leave 
you.     Why  destroy  your  whole  life? 

Nju.     I  love  him  —  I  love  him ! 

Husband.     But  he  doesn't  love  you  — 

Nju.     I  shan't  answer  you  any  more. 

Husband.  You  are  the  most  beautiful  woman  I 
know.  Everything  about  you  is  beautiful.  There's 
nothing  lovelier  than  your  hands  —  I  love  it  when  you 
come  in  to  breakfast  in  the  morning  —  and  your  hair  is 
still  damp  on  the  temples  —  You're  much  prettier 
than  the  youngest  Birinski  —  When  you  go  from  one 
room  to  another.  You  carry  yourself  like  a  queen.  I 
shall  have  a  portrait  made  from  your  picture  and  it  shall 
hang  over  my  writing  table.  You  are  more  beautiful 
than  you  were  then  —  when  you  were  still  a  girl.  You 
shouldn't  wear  that  black  dress,  it  doesn't  suit  you. 
Now  you  should  dress  entirely  in  white  because  you're 
in  love.  Your  dress,  your  hat,  the  sunshade  and  stock- 
ings must  all  be  white.  You  still  have  the  long  white 
openwork  stockings  you  wore  at  the  ball, •'do  you 
remember,  on  the  seventh  of  January? 

Nju.     Why  do  you  torture  me? 

Husband.  We'll  go  out  tomorrow  and  order  every- 
thing. Will  you?  —  Why  not?  Even  if  we  are  no 
longer  man  and  wife,  can't  I  be  with  you  any  more? 


Nju  53 

That  would  be  too  stupid?  I  shall  get  some  money 
tomorrow  and  then  we  will  make  our  purchases. 
Don't  worry  about  money  —  I  will  give  you  as  much  as 
you   want. 

Nju.     Don't  talk  of  it  —  Be  quiet. 

Husband.  All  right,  I  won't  say  any  more.  Only 
this  —  you  are  not  to  suffer  want  and  get  worried. 
Oh,  if  you  only  knew  how  I  love  you !  It's  enough  for 
me  if  you  will  live  under  the  same  roof,  where  I  can 
see  you  and  know  you  are  near  me  —  Only  don't  leave 
me  —  Don't  go  away  from  me  — 

Nju.     Why  do  you  torture  me  so? 

Husband.  Why  couldn't  we  all  three  live  together? 
Where  is  it  written  that  that  is  not  possible?  We're 
all  intelligent  people.  We  have  no  prejudices.  Where 
is  it  written  that  it  is  not  possible? 

Nju.     My  God!    Do  leave  me  alone. 

Husband.  We  can  all  three  live  together  and  that 
would  be  the  most  circumspect  arrangement  and  no- 
body would  be  deceived  by  it.  The  question  must  be 
solved  somehow.  It  is  impossible  to  go  on  like  this. 
One  of  the  two  things  —  I  can't  stand  it  any  more  — 
I  can't  stand  it  any  more.  I'm  a  human  being,  too. 
You  both  torture  me  without  a  shred  of  pity,  as  though 


54  Nju 

I  were  not  a  human  being  .  .  .  without  a  shred  of 
pity.    You  sneer  at  me. 

Nju.  Nobody  sneers  at  you.  You  know  every- 
thing.   Am  I  hiding  anything? 

Husband.  Where  were  you  today?  Why  did  you 
come  home  so  late?  Why  were  you  so  excited  that 
you  locked  yourself  in  here?  You  were  running 
around  with  him  in  some  hotel,  or  restaurant,  or  the 
devil  only  knows  where  —  you  vile  thing  —  I'll  strike 
you  dead!  You're  sleeping  in  another  room  in  order 
to  lock  yourself  in.     I'll  strike  you  dead. 

Nju.    Strike  me!    Strike  me!    Please! 

Husband  {Seizing  her  arm).  Get  up.  What  do 
you  mean  by  lying  down  when  I'm  standing?  I  won't 
allow  you  to  flop  around  in  this  way.  Get  up!  On 
your  knees.     Get  up!    So! 

Nju.    You  strike  me! 

Husband.  You  should  be  struck  across  the  face 
with  a  riding  whip  —  I  —  who  is  the  master — ? 


curtain 


m 


Nju  55 

Scene  VI 

Room  in  the  Husband's  house.  A  telephone  is  on  the 
wall.  Kostja  is  standing  on  a  chair  in  front  of  the 
telephone.     The  husband  stands  next  to  him. 

Husband.    Well,  did  you  understand,  Kostja? 

Kostja.    Yes,  Papa. 

Husband  {In  the  telephone).    Thanks. 

(Pause) 

Yes.    Yes. 

Kostja.    Papa,  may  I  cough  into  the  telephone? 

Husband.  Take  the  receiver.  You  mustn't  cough. 
There  .  .  . 

Kostja.    I'm  not  afraid,  Papa. 

Husband.  You  needn't  be  afraid.  You'll  hear 
at  once,  that  someone  is  talking  to  you  and  you  must 
answer. 

Kostja.     How  can  I  hear,  if  my  ear  is  stopped  up? 

Husband.    Hush!    Now,  listen! 

{The  Husband's  face  expresses  expectation  and  intensity. 
Some  minutes  go  by.  Four  flights  downstairs  the  banging 
of  an  outer  door  is  heard.) 

Don't  you  hear  anything? 

Kostja  {Astonished  and  happy).    Mama!    Mama! 


56  Nju 

(He  drops  the  receiver  and  looks  around  astonished.) 

Where  are  you? 

Husband.     Don't  drop  the  receiver,  do  you  hear? 

KosTJA.  Mama,  is  that  you?  —  Why  do  I  hear 
you  and  yet  I  can't  see  you?  No.  I'm  not  crying. 
I  have  a  gun  and  a  balloon.     A  large  red  balloon. 

{Makes  an  expressive  gesture) 

I  was  ill.  Mama.     Why  didn*t  you  come  to  me? 

(The  Husband  makes  a  movement.  Kostja  gives  him 
a  sign  not  to  disturb  him.) 

Now,  I'm  all  right  again.     (Marie  enters) 

I'm  not  allowed  to  go  out  for  a  walk  yet.  The 
policeman  will  get  me  if  I  go  out. 

Marie.    Who  are  you  speaking  to? 

Husband.     With  Madame. 

Marie.  If  it  weren't  for  the  child,  I  wouldn't  stay 
another  minute  in  this  house.  I  can't  look  on  at  this 
sort  of  thing. 

Kostja.     Marie,  I'm  talking  through  the  telephone! 

Marie.    Yes,  yes! 

Kostja  (At  the  telephone).  And  when  are  you  com- 
ing to  us,  Mama?  Are  you  ill?  —  Why  are  you  always 
away?  Do  you  know.  Mama,  I'm  speaking  through 
the  telephone.    How  are  you  speaking?    What?   Two 


I 


Nju  57 

telephones?  —  So  many?  Can't  you  see  me  either? 
No,  I  am  standing  all  by  myself  on  a  chair  .  .  .  Papa 
is  only  holding  me  with  one  hand.  Mama,  Mama. 
Where  are  you  Mama?    Why  have  you  gone  away? 

{He  raps  excitedly  on  the  receiver.    Hurt.) 

Mama,  why  won't  you  speak  to  me  any  more? 
Mama  —  Mama  — 

Husband  {Takes  the  receiver  away  from  him,  puts  it 
to  his  ear,  and  then  hangs  it  on  the  hook.  He  bends  over 
Kostja,  kisses  him  on  the  forehead  and  smooths  his  hair). 

The  telephone  is  out  of  order,  Kostja.  We  can't 
hear  any  more. 

Marie  {Carrying  the  hoy  off).  If  only  I  didn't  have 
to  look  on  at  such  things  —  {Exit) 

{The  Husband  remains  alone.  He  goes  quickly  to  the 
telephone,  takes  down  the  receiver,  and  puts  it  to  his  ear. 
He  listens  a  moment  and  hangs  it  again  on  the  hook.) 


CURTAIN 


PART  THREE 


PART  THREE 

Scene  VII 

An  ordinary  furnished  room.  It  is  evening.  The 
Husband  stands  at  the  door.  He  is  untidily  dressed. 
His  coat  collar  is  turned  up.  He  might  be  a  workman, 
who  had  done  the  repairs  in  the  house  and  is  waiting  for 
a  tip. 

Nju  {Exhausted  rather  than  excited).     Now  go  — 

Husband.     All  right.     I'm  going. 

(Long  pause) 

Perhaps  you  need  — 

Nju.     I  need  nothing. 

(Pause) 

(Husband  (In  a  monotone).  I  saw  you  driving  with 
him  yesterday. 

(Pause) 

I  saw  you  drive  by. 

(Pause) 

Nju  (Expressionless).  Yes.  I  went  driving  with 
him. 

Husband.    And  you  refuse  to  go  with  me.     You 

won't  drive  with  me.     I  can't  understand  you. 

61 


62  Nju 

Nju.     It's  half  past  eight. 

Husband  {As  before).    You're  expecting  him,  then? 

{Nju  doesn't  answer). 

Now,  we  have  lived  together  ten  years! 

Nju.     That's  such  an  old  story. 

Husband.  I  don't  at  all  know  what  has  happened 
so  suddenly.  There  must  surely  be  some  way  out. 
This  is  all  stupid.  With  really  good  intentions  there 
is  always  a  way  of  adjusting  things.  It's  only  our  fault 
that  it  doesn't  come  out  right.  You,  and  I  and  He  — 
we  can  settle  things  somehow.  Let  us  all  meet  and 
talk  the  matter  over  tomorrow  if  you  like.  Have  you 
time  tomorrow?  Or  preferably  today.  Why  put  it 
off?  Or  will  you  let  me  wait  here  —  he  is  likely  to 
come  any  moment  now,  and  we'll  settle  the  whole 
thing.     Why  put  it  off? 

Nju.    Go  —  go. 

Husband.    I  love  you. 

Nju.    I  know. 

Husband.    Just  come  to  me  for  a  week.    Try  it. 

Nju.     I've  heard  that  already. 

Husband.  Do  try.  If  you're  not  happy,  you  can 
go  away  again.  If  you  wish  it,  I  myself  will  leave  the 
house. 


Nju  63 

Nju.     I  know  all  about  that. 

Husband.  Let  everything  remain  as  it  was.  He 
can  come  and  see  you  as  he  did  before.  See,  I'm  your 
friend  —  I  am  friend  of  you  both. 

Nju.     Oh,  yes,  yes  .  .  . 
5     Husband.     Let  everything  remain  as  it  was.     I'm 
only  thinking  of  your  good,  so  that  you  don't  have  to 
live  here  in  a  furnished  room.     I'll  leave  home  and 
move  over  to  a  hotel. 

Nju.    No. 

Husband.     Why  not?    Why  not? 

Marie  {Enters).     Good  day,  sir. 

Husband  (Without  looking  at  her).     Good  day. 

(He  recognizes  her.) 

Oh,  you're  here,  Marie? 
Nju.     She  comes  to  me  now  and  then. 
Husband.     Well,  what's  it  to  be? 
Nju  (Goes  to  him  and  gives  him  her  hand.     She  says 
simply  and  without  irony).     Good-bye. 
Husband.     Good-bye. 

(He  kisses  her  hand  once,  then  a  second  and  third  time 
and  goes  out.) 

Nju.    Thank  God,  he's  gone! 

(She  lies  down  on  the  couch  and  puts  up  her  feet.) 


64  Nju 

Marie.  Which  shppers  would  you  like  to  put  on, 
M'am? 

Nju.    Those. 

Marie  {Bends  over  Nju's  feet  and  unlaces  her  shoes). 
I've  found  the  receipt  for  the  curtains. 

Nju.    Did  you  find  it.? 

Marie.  Yes,  this  morning.  I  was  looking  in  the 
drawer  for  a  serviette  for  the  master,  and  there  I  found 
it  behind  the  mirror. 

Nju.     Behind  the  large  mirror? 

Marie.  Yes.  Tomorrow  I'll  go  and  fetch  the  cur- 
tains. It's  about  time  we  put  them  up.  There's 
been  nothing  up  at  the  windows  for  four  weeks. 

Nju.    That's  uncomfortable. 

Marie.  Eh?  Yes.  Oh,  there  was  a  telephone 
message  this  morning  from  the  lady  who  lives  in 
Alexander  Street. 

Nju.     Is  she  back  already? 

Marie.  Yes,  indeed.  She  telephoned  to  know 
whether  you  were  at  home. 

Nju.     Really?     (Laughs) 

And  what  did  you  say  to  her? 

Marie.  I  said  you  were  away.  Then  she  asked 
where. 

Nju.     And  what  did  you  say?    (Laughs) 


Nju  65 

Marie  (Smiling).  I  answered  her  that  I  didn't 
know  where. 

(While  she  is  still  down  on  the  floor,  she  begins  suddenly 
to  sob  —  crying:) 

Oh,  Madame!    Oh,  Madame! 
Nju.    This  is  absurd. 

(She  covers  her  face  with  her  hands,  remains  awhile 
motionless  and  then  lets  her  hands  fall.) 

Absurd! 

(She  makes  an  impetuous  movement  with  her  foot.) 

Oh,  do  hurry  up! 

(Marie  is  still  busy  with  the  unlacing  —  He  comes  in. 
Marie  gets  up  and  goes  out.) 

He  (Kissing  her  hands.  Pointing  to  Marie).  What's 
the  matter  with  her? 

Nju.  What  does  a  woman  cry  about?  "He"  of 
course  has  ceased  caring  about  her.  She  also  has  a 
"He"  —  turn  round. 

(She  changes  her  shoes.) 

He.  Why  should  I  turn  round?  Why  these  formal- 
ities? 

Nju.    I  don't  want  you  to  —  look  the  other  way. 


66  Nju 

He  {Turning  away).  Where's  the  logic?  .  .  .  Al- 
ways the  same  old  story  .  .  .  "he"  and  "she"; 
"she"  and  "he." 

Nju  {Still  busying  herself  with  the  shoes).  Yes, 
always  the  same  old  story,  how  it  tires  one! 

He.    Do  you  know  what  has  occm-ed  to  me?    Listen. 

Nju.    Y-yes  .  .  . 

He.  I'll  write  a  novel  about  the  two  axes  of  the 
world  —  day  and  night  —  The  masculine  principle  and 
the  feminine  —  everlastingly  uncertain  in  the  balance. 
Do  you  understand? 

Nju.    Hm  — 

He.  I  shaU  call  the  novel  "The  Two  Axes"  and 
dedicate  it  to  you.     That  will  be  our  child.     Yes? 

Nju  {Suddenly  laughs  aloud  and  breaks  up  the  serious y 
almost  solemn  atmosphere.  She  goes  behind  him  and 
flicks  the  end  of  his  nose) .    Oh,  you ! 

He  {Astounded).    What's  the  matter  with  you? 

Nju.  Nothing.  Yes,  that's  what  it  shall  be  called 
"The  Two  Axes." 

He.    What's  this  tone  you're  using  to  me? 

Nju.  My  sweetheart,  I  must  change  my  old  tone. 
I'm  not  a  married  woman  any  more.    I'm  —  only  — 

He.  Lately  you've  spoken  to  me  in  such  a  strange 
way.     "My  sweetheart — "    What  does  it  mean? 


Nju  67 

Nju.  Hm.  But  you  are  still  my  dear  —  your 
friend  was  here  today. 

He.    Who? 

Nju.    Your  friend.     My  husband. 

He.    Again?    What  did  he  want? 

Nju.    He  tried  to  talk  me  over  into  going  back. 

He.  Why  did  you  see  him?  I  don't  understand 
what  you  have  to  say  to  him.     It  only  upsets  you  both. 

Nju.  Remarkable,  he  speaks  quite  calmly  about 
you. 

He.    When  you  come  down  to  it  —  am  I  to  blame? 

Nju.    Of  course  not  —  You're  not  to  blame  at  all. 

He.     Certainly  not. 

Nju.    Of  course  not.    That's  what  I  say. 

He.  I  ask  you  —  in  fact  I  insist  —  that  you  won't 
see  your  husband  again. 

Nju.    All  right. 

He.    I  make  my  request  quite  seriously. 

Nju.    Yes  —  yes. 

He.     Promise  me. 

Nju.    Yes. 

He.  Isn't  it  rather  silly?  Really  in  ten  years  you 
could  have  said  all  you  had  to  say  to  him.  Doesn't 
it  bore  you? 

Nju.    He  is  good.    He  is  better  than  both  of  us. 


68  Nju 

He.    Very  possibly.    Why  did  you  leave  him  then? 

Nju.    I'm  a  fool. 

He.     Well,  it  isn't  too  late  to  be  sensible. 

Nju.     Don't  ever  dare  to  say  anything  like  that. 

He.  Everything  can  be  patched  up.  Then  you 
won't  have  to  go  on  living  in  a  hole  like  this. 

Nju.    You'd  better  not  exasperate  me! 

He.    Or  — 

Nju.     Or  I  shall  go  away  from  you. 

He.    And  will  you  take  my  picture  with  you? 

Nju.    Of  course  I  shall  take  it  with  me. 

He.    And  where  will  you  go? 

Nju  (Irritably).  Where?  Do  you  suppose  I  don't 
know  where? 

He.  There,  there,  that's  enough!  Let's  make  it  up 
now,  eh? 

Nju.    Do  you  believe  there  is  nowhere  I  can  go? 

He.     Let's  get  married,  Nju. 

Nju.  Thank  you.  I've  just  got  rid  of  my  first 
husband.  Shall  I  take  a  second  right  away?  No, 
thank  you  kindly! 

He.     What  shall  we  do  then? 

Nju.    Nothing.     I  want  to  be  free. 

He.    Aren't  you  — ? 

Nju.    No,  my  dear.    Let's  not  talk  about  that. 


Nju  69 

He.    You  don't  love,  Njura. 

Nju.  I  love  you  very  much;  no,  really  I  love  you 
very  much,  but  there  is  something  that  is  more  than 
love  —  something  still  higher. 

He.     What's  that?    Life? 

Nju.    I  don't  know. 

He.    Or  —  death? 

Nju.  No,  there's  something  ridiculous  about  the 
dead. 

He.     Ridiculous? 

Nju.  Why  yes,  ridiculous.  A  being  lives,  reads, 
writes,  goes  to  the  theatre  —  and  suddenly  he  is  lying 
full  length  —  stretched  out  with  so  much  ceremony. 
There's  something  funny  in  it.  Inwardly  every  one  is 
more  or  less  laughing  at  him!  No,  no,  there's  some- 
thing higher  than  that. 

He.    Than  life,  death  and  love? 

Nju.  Than  all  combined.  There  must  be  something 
undoubtedly;  otherwise  everything  would  be  senseless. 

He.  I  really  don't  understand  what  you're  talking 
about. 

Nju.  I  learned  to  know  love  and  thought  in  the 
beginning  there  could  be  nothing  more  glorious.  That 
this  was  happiness. 

He.    And? 


70  Nju 

Nju.  You  seem  to  be  offended.  My  friend,  the 
most  beautiful  girl  can  only  give  what  she  possesses. 

He.     So,  ybu  weren't  happy  with  me? 

Nju.  Oh  yes,  but  I  want  to  go  still  higher,  still 
further. 

He.    Above  and  beyond  there  is  nothing  more. 

Nju  (Unexpectedly  falls  on  her  knees  before  him). 
There  is  something  beyond.  There  must  be  something 
lying  on  the  other  side  —  You're  very  clever  —  very 
sensitive,  but  you  don't  know  that.  It  is  impossible 
that  there  is  nothing  existing  —  a  something  where 
nothing  can  harm  us  —  where  nothing  more  can  hap- 
pen to  us,  and  that  which  we  once  possess  can't  be 
taken  away  from  us.  Perhaps  it  isn't  happiness,  but 
something  higher,  something  so  high  that  we  no  longer 
ask  whether  it  is  happiness  or  not.  When  I  think 
really  hard,  I  seem  to  hear  someone  whispering:  "Yes, 
there  is  something."  —  Won't  you  have  some  tea? 

He  (Thoughtfully).     Perhaps  life  after  death  — 

Nju.  Oh  no,  here  on  earth :  One  jokes  and  chatters, 
and  just  there  —  there  where  the  deepest,  truest 
words  are  needed,  they  fail  us.  How  shall  I  express 
that?  I  could  cry  with  vexation  that  I  am  so  stupid, 
so  clumsy  and  empty-headed. 

He.    You  are  beautiful. 


Nju  71 

Njit.  Oh,  just  for  once  in  life  to  be  able  to  cry  out 
the  right  word. 

He.     What  word  Nju? 

Nju  (Withdrawing  her  hand  from  his).  My  own, 
ownest  word.  Everybody  has  his  own  word  —  It  is 
somewhere  in  my  throat,  and  yet  I  can't  speak  it  out. 

He.    Here  in  your  throat? 

Nju.    Don't  touch  me.    Yes,  here. 

He.    Here?     (Kisses  her) 

Nju  (Moving  away).    Don't. 

He.    Come  to  me,  my  Nju,  come! 

Nju  (Gently  warding  him  off).  No,  no  —  please! 
When  I'm  singing  to  myseK  in  a  wood,  or  sitting  by 
the  side  of  a  river,  I  feel  that  there  must  be  something 
that  is  higher  than  anything  in  the  world.  I  sing  a 
strange  melody,  which  I've  never  heard  before,  a  sad, 
sad  melody  without  words.  Sometimes  words  fit  in 
with  the  melody,  quite  plain,  simple  words.  One 
would  like  to  recall  them  afterward,  but  one  never  can. 
This  happens  to  me  about  twice  a  year  —  never  oftener. 

He.     I've  never  seen  you  like  this  before. 

Nju.     I  wrote  a  letter  to  you  last  night. 

He.    To  me?    But  I  was  with  you,  last  night. 

Nju.    Yes,  after  you'd  gone.    I  tore  it  up  again. 

He.    You  tore  it  up? 


72  Nju 

Nju.  Yes,  it  was  unnecessary  —  I  said  it  all  to 
your  picture.  I  even  read  the  letter  to  it.  No,  not 
quite  all  of  it  — 

He.    And  what  did  my  picture  say  to  you? 

Nju.     It  is  dear!    It  is  nicer  than  you. 

He.    And  nicer  than  your  husband? 

Nju.  Yes,  I  tell  everything  to  the  picture  —  it 
never  scolds  me,  and  forgives  everything. 

(He  tries  to  embrace  her.  She  tears  herself  away  from 
him.) 

No,  my  dear  one  —  that's  over. 

He.    Why? 

Nju.    Because  — 

He.  How  weirdly  you're  treating  me! 

Nju.  I  feel  like  that  sometimes.  Come  here  —  I'll 
kiss  you  on  the  forehead,  and  that's  all. 

He.     I  don't  understand  aU  this. 

Nju.    It's  just  one  of  my  whimsies. 

He.  No,  thank  you.  Women's  whimsies!  Do 
you  know  what  I'm  going  to  say  to  you?     Drop  it! 

Nju.    What  do  you  mean? 

He.  Everything.  It  isn't  worth  while  in  this 
province  which  calls  itself  the  world  —  Don't  you  feel 
it?    Happiness  and  love  and  work  and  God  knows 


Nju  73 

what  else !  It  is  all  so  provincial  —  Even  our  dreams 
—  let  them  be  what  they  will  —  are  provincial  —  yes, 
even  our  sufferings. 

Nju  (Seriously).  And  what  is  there  that  isn't 
provincial? 

He.  What?  Art  and  death.  No,  art  is,  too! 
Only  death. 

Nju.    Yes,  I  understand. 

He  (Goes  to  her).    You  understand  it? 

Nju.    Yes,  I  understand  it. 

He.  Just  say,  "It  isn't  worth  while,"  and  you'll 
laugh,  just  as  I'm  domg.  Not  with  your  face  —  but 
(Pointing  to  his  breast)  with  the  heart,  while  your  eyes 
remain  sad.  Why  —  do  you  see  —  your  eyes  have 
become  quite  sad? 

Nju.     When  will  it  be  different  —  not  provincial? 

He  (JVith  conviction).  Never!  It  will  never  be 
different. 

Nju.     Funny! 

He.  Your  eyes  have  become  so  sad,  dear.  How 
lovely  you  are! 

(Near  her  —  passionately.) 

I  want  you,  close  —  close  — 
Nju  (Weakly).    Don't! 


74  Nju 

He.  What  do  I  care  whether  you  want  it?  I  want 
it  —  I  want  it. 

Nju.    I  implore  you  —  no  —  not  —  not  — 

{He  begins  to  struggle  with  her,  then  lets  her  go.) 

No,  my  dear!    Tonight  you  won't  succeed! 

He  {Taking  his  coat,  etc.).  Good  night.  You 
certainly  have  talent  — 

Nju.     Talent  for  what?     I  don't  understand  you. 

He.    For  the  stage.     {He  goes  out) 

Nju  {Looks  after  him).    Ah! 

{Pause) 

{Looks  at  his  picture  and  speaks  aloud.) 

Dear,  why  are  you  angry  with  me?  I  wanted  you 
to  understand  my  soul,  and  you  understood  nothing. 
Dear  foolish  thing!  You're  so  clever  and  so  dense! 
Why  did  I  meet  you !  You  came  and  woke  up  my  life, 
and  now  I've  nothing  at  all.  Still  I  thank  you  that  I 
met  you  —  thank  you  for  everything  —  You  can't 
give  me  more.  That  is  how  you  are.  You'll  meet 
many  women  but  you'll  never  forget  me.  You  won't, 
will  you?  Now  you're  dear  —  now  you're  not  angry 
any  more.  I'm  not  guilty  towards  you  at  all  —  I 
know  it  —  You'll  never  understand  this,  nor  believe 
me.    Nobody  in  the  whole  world  will  believe  me.     Dear 


Nju  75 

foolish  man!  You  are  as  moody  as  a  child.  If  you 
had  loved  me  as  I  wanted  ...  I  never  .  .  .  No  you 
can't  .  .  . 

{The  Clock  strikes.) 

My  God!    This  terrible  fear! 


CURTAIN 


PART  FOUR 


PART  FOUR 
Scene  VIII 

The  same  room  as  in  Scene  VII.  It  is  in  great 
disorder.  The  windows  are  wide  open.  He  in  a  fur 
overcoat  and  rubbers.     Marie,  Kostja. 

He.  What  do  you  say  Marie?  Dead?  It's  not 
possible. 

Marie.    Just  as  we  all  will  die. 

He.     Only  last  night  I  was  .  .  . 

Marie.     Um  —  And  today  she  is  dead! 

Kostja  (Sits  indi;fferent  in  the  corner).  My  Mama's 
dead. 

He.     Tell  me  that  this  is  only  a  joke. 

Marie.  It  would  be  a  good  joke!  She  was  taken 
ill  in  the  night  and  towards  morning  we  took  her  to 
the  hospital  and  there  she  died. 

He.  Who  took  her  to  the  hospital?  Why  didn't 
someone  notify  me? 

Marie.     I  sent  for  the  master  and  he  took  her  there. 

Don't  go  to  her.     Probably  she  has  been  taken  home 

by  now.     Master  sent  the  boy  over  here. 

Kostja.     My  Mama  died  tonight. 
79 


80  Nju 

He.  Didn't  she  leave  me  .  .  .  Surely  she  left  a 
letter  for  me  or  some  message! 

Marie.  No,  there's  no  letter.  There's  nothmg  for 
you. 

He.  Marie,  what  does  it  mean?  How  frightfully 
stupid  it  all  is! 

Mabie.    Yes,  we  were  not  asked.     (Cries) 

That  is  "freedom."  Left  her  husband  in  the  lurch 
.  .  .  Oh  God,  oh  God.  .  .  {Takes  Kostja  in  her  arms.) 

My  poor  little  orphan  .  .  .  you  haven't  any  mother. 

Kostja.  Marie,  why  are  you  crying?  K  you  cry, 
the  policeman  will  get  you. 

He.    How  frightfully  stupid  it  all  is. 

{The  Husband  comes  in  with  his  hat  and  coat  on.) 

Marie.    Well,  sir? 

{Pause) 

Husband.    Has  the  boy  had  anything  to  eat? 

Marie.    Yes. 

Kostja.  Yes,  daddy.  I've  had  something  to  eat. 
Why  have  you  got  your  hat  on !    You  mustn't  do  that. 

Husband  {Takes  his  hat  of  mechanically  and  speaks 
to  Marie  meanwhile  turning  his  hack  on  Him^  perhaps 
without  noticing  Him^  and  speaks  in  an  indifferent  almost 
a  business-like  tone). 


Nju  81 

IVe  just  been  over  there  and  got  the  death  certificate. 

I  have  ordered  a  white  coffin,  all  white  .  .  .  What 
else  is  there?  ... 

Marie.    White  .  .  .  Yes,  white  is  beautiful  .  .  . 

Husband.     I've  ordered  the  grave. 

Marie.    And  who  is  at  home.'^ 

Husband.  At  home?  The  lady  who  lives  in  Alex- 
ander street  and  .  .  .  and  .  .  .  Has  the  boy  had 
anything  to  eat? 

KosTJA.  Why  don't  you  believe  me  Papa  when  I 
tell  you  something? 

Husband  {Strokes  his  hair  without  paying  any  atten- 
tion). Yes  .  .  .  Hm,  hm.  Yes  .  .  .  What  else  is 
there!  We  must  put  the  notice  in  the  paper.  .  .  . 
Who  could  drive  over?    I  have  no  time. 

He.     I'll  do  it.     I'll  drive  over. 

Husband  {Without  turning  towards  Him  and  without 
giving  any  indication  that  he  has  heard).  What  else  is 
there?    Oh  yes,  pack  up  all  the  things. 

Marie.    What  things? 

Husband.    Her  things,  madame's. 

Marie.  That's  soon  done.  {Points  to  a  small  pile 
lying  on  the  sofa) 

Husband  {Looking  at  it  seriously).  Just  these  .  .  . 
Yes  .  .  .  {Points  to  the  shoes) 


82  Nju 

The  coat.    There  ...  is  that  all!     {Irritated) 

Marie,  what  are  you  doing  with  that  hat!  Look 
how  you've  bent  it. 

Marie.  That's  all  .  .  .  (JVith  an  evasive  gesture) 

Husband.  You've  bent  it  all  up.  And  this  .  .  . 
{Holding  up  His  picture) 

Marie  {Wants  to  take  it  from  hirriy  somewhat  embar- 
rassed).    Oh,  this!  .  .  .  You  can't  leave  this  here. 

Husband  {Holding  it  in  his  hand,  simply).  Yes, 
of  course. 

{He  puts  it  with  the  other  things.) 

Pack  everything  together  and  take  them  to  the  cab. 
One  is  waiting  outside. 

The  Chamber-maid  {Comes  in  and  begins  to  sweep). 

Marie.    I'll  pack  them  up  right  away. 

Husband.  The  hat  you  must  be  particularly  .  .  . 
What  else?    Yes,  where  is  my  black  coat? 

Mabie.    In  the  cupboard,  sir. 

Husband.    Drive  home  with  the  boy,  Marie. 

{A  piece  of  soap  falls  out  of  the  bundle,  he  picks  it  up.) 

Her  soap. 

{He  holds  it  to  his  face  in  both  hands  and  smells  it.) 

Her  soap. 

{His  mouth  quivers,  he  cries.) 


Nju  83 

The  Chamber-maid  {Stoops  and  picks  up  a  roll  of 
paper-ribbon).     Is  this  something  you  want? 

Marie  (Looks  at  the  paper).  No,  throw  the  thing 
away. 

He  {Takes  the  ribbon,  his  voice  trembling).  How  like  a 
flower  she  has  faded.  Like  a  reckless  thoughtless 
bird  .  .  .  {His  voice  breaks,  he  cries) 

And  why  should  I  not  cry,  why  should  I  be  ashamed? 
A  tender  heart,  a  woman's  heart,  is  broken.  Faded 
like  a  flower  .  .  .  The  world  will  lose  in  beauty  .  .  . 
In  the  night,  all  alone,  forlorn,  without  a  soul,  no  one 
by  who  could  have  said  to  her  .  .  .  No  one  —  in  a 
hospital  —  among  strangers  .  .  . 


CURTAIN 


84  Nju 

Scene  IX 

In  the  Husband's  home  all  the  doors  are  thrown 
open,  the  rooms  are  thrown  into  one.  Not  one  thing 
stands  in  its  customary  place.  Every  thing  is  in  great 
disorder  as  is  usual  in  a  house  of  mourning.  The  coffin 
itself  is  not  to  be  seen  but  is  evidently  in  the  room 
which  would  be  nearest  the  audience.  The  white  coffin 
cover  is  leaning  against  the  door.  On  account  of  it  every- 
one goes  around  nervously  and  this  white  spot  which 
dominates  the  entire  picture  forces  itself  persistently 
upon  the  vision.  The  mass  for  the  dead  is  not  yet  begun. 
A  few  ladies  and  gentlemen  stand  motionless  in  the  door- 
ways in  street  costume.  The  ladies  wear  smart  hats. 
Their  faces  can*t  be  recognized  as  everyone  is  looking  at 
the  coffin.  From  time  to  time  new  guests  appear  among 
whom  are  people  who  were  seen  at  the  Ball  in  the  first 
act.  A  messenger  from  the  florist* s  enters.  He  carries 
two  large  vyreaths  covered  with  wrapping  paper.  He  looks 
from  side  to  side  and  apparently  does  not  know  to  whom 
he  should  give  the  wreaihs. 

He  appears  in  an  expensive  fur  coat  and  top  hat.  The 
messenger  recognizes  him  and  goes  toward  him. 

Messenger.    Here,  please. 
He.    What  is  it? 


Nju  85 

Messenger.  What  you  ordered  yesterday.  (Un- 
covers the  wreath) 

He.     Oh  yes,  quite  right.     (Looking  at  it) 

But  that's  not  at  all  what  I  wanted. 

Messenger.  How!  You  ordered  a  large  wreath, 
two  palms  branches  with  ribbons  and  the  inscription  — 
*'To  the  white  flower,  which  faded."  After  "flower" 
—  a  comma. 

He.  But  I  expressly  told  you  to  use  only  white 
roses. 

Messenger.    No,  you  said  .  .  . 

He.     I  repeated  it  several  times. 

Messenger.  You  said,  "Send  a  wreath  with  two 
palm  branches  for  someone  who  is  dead,  a  lady,"  and 
paid  5  rubles  on  account.  Forget-me-nots  are  even 
more  appropriate.  We  could  still  change  it,  it  won't 
take  long. 

He.    How  can  you?    The  mass  begins  immediately. 

Messenger.  Besides  whether  red,  or  white,  or  blue, 
or  any  other  color,  that  is  —  so  to  speak  —  compara- 
tively speaking  —  its  all  the  same  —  that  is  to  say, 
it's  all  alike  to  the  dead,  —  ribbons,  flowers  and  every- 
thing.    {Points  to  the  wreath  and  the  streamers) 

He.  How  much  more  do  I  owe  you?  Ten  rubles? 
{He  takes  out  his  purse) 


86  Nju 

Messenger.     No  indeed,  thirteen. 

He.  What's  the  matter  with  you?  Yesterday  you 
said  the  wreath  would  only  cost  fifteen. 

Messenger.  Impossible,  sir.  Why  good  heavens, 
the  streamers  and  the  inscription  alone  cost  me  five 
rubles.    And  then  add  to  that  two  palm  branches  .  .  . 

He.    You  are  taking  advantage  of  your  opportunity. 

Messenger.  We  meet  our  customers  half  way, 
whenever  we  can,  but  in  this  case  it's  impossible.  I 
assure  you  the  roses  alone  cost  a  ruble  apiece.  All 
right  then,  I'll  let  you  have  the  wreath  for  seventeen. 
Shall  I  carry  it  into  the  drawing  room  and  lay  it  on  the 
coffin? 

He.    How  do  you  know? 

Messenger.  Why  sir?  I've  brought  bouquets  and 
flowers  and  potted  plants  here  often  enough,  that 
you've  been  kind  enough  to  order.  I  know  this  house 
very  well.    For  a  lady? 

He.    Y^,  for  the  lady. 

Messenger.  You  don't  say  so.  How  dreadful.  A 
very  charming  lady.     She  poisoned  herself,  didn't  she? 

He  (Very  taken  aback).  Poisoned  herself?  How 
.  .  .  poisoned? 

Messenger.  It  was  so  sudden  .  .  .  and  there 
was*no  autopsy. 


Nju  87 

{The  young  man  with  whom  Nju  danced  at  the  ball 
enters  followed  by  the  Husband.) 

The  Young  Man  (Excitedly).  Unheard  of,  not  to 
have  a  satin  cushion  for  her  head! 

Husband.  Please  drive  at  once  to  the  office  and 
ask  for  the  cushion.     Tell  them  I  sent  you. 

The  Young  Man.    Unheard  of.     (Exits) 

Messenger  (Recognizing  the  Husband).  Here  you 
are,  sir!     (Hands  him  the  wreath) 

Husband.     Oh!  all  right.     (Taking  out  his  purse) 

Messenger  (Uncovering  second  wreath).  A  wreath 
with  the  inscription  "To  my  wife  who  will  never  be 
forgotten  —  From  her  disconsolate  husband."  Please, 
sir.     (Handing  him  the  bill) 

Husband.  Why  white  flowers?  I  ordered  .  .  . 
(Sees  Him) 

It's  all  the  same  anyway.     Quick. 

Messenger.  I  beg  your  pardon,  you  ordered  forget- 
me-nots.  I  see  now.  It  was  a  mistake.  One  moment. 
I  beg  your  pardon.  Allow  me,  sir.  (Takes  the  wreath 
from  Him) 

The  boy  changed  the  ribbons.  One  minute. 
(Changes  the  ribbons) 

Husband.    It  doesn't  matter. 

Messenger.    No,  it  does  matter.    The  gentleman 


88  Nju 

over  there  was  complaining  and  we  must  consider  our 
firm  ...  a  little  oversight  ...  it  escaped  attention 
in  the  rush.  I  beg  your  pardon.  Now  then,  here  it  is, 
"The  white  flower,  comma  .  .  .  which"  .  .  .  (To  Him) 

Now,  you  knew  the  lady,  you  won't  make  a  fuss  over 
a  ruble. 

All  right,  seventeen  then.    (Hands  Him  the  wreath) 

Here,  thank  you,  sir.  Now  that's  right.  Kindly 
pardon  us,  please? 

(Both  men  pay  and  come  forward  with  their  wreaths. 
Each  wants  the  other  to  go  ahead  of  him.  Thus  they  keep 
turning  around  in  the  same  place.) 

Husband.    After  you  .  .  . 

(The  Husband  goes  into  the  next  room.  He  comes  back.) 

(To  the  messenger  who  is  gathering  up  the  paper.) 

What  makes  you  think  she  poisoned  herself? 

(They  both  turn  away.  Outside  a  hand-organ  starts  to 
play.  New  guests  arrive.  A  tally  thin  man,  in  a  smart 
over  coat  f  polishes  his  eye  glasses.  He  goes  up  to  a  lady 
who  is  standing  in  a  comer,  crying.) 

The  Tall,  Thin  Man.  Dusja,  why  didn't  you 
come  yesterday? 

The  Lady  (Looks  up  quickly,  recognizes  him  and 
begins  to  sob).    I  couldn't.    Don't  look  at  me. 


Nju  89 

The  Tall,  Thin  Man.  I  saw  it  in  the  paper.  I 
noticed  the  announcement  at  once.  How  disagreeable. 
I  can't  stand  that  sort  of  thing. 

The  Lady.    Yes,  and  now  it's  over.     Too  bad. 

{New  guests  arrive.  People  greet  one  another.  And 
occasional  disconnected  sentences  are  heard.) 

.  .  .  No?  What  do  you  think  about  it?  So  unex- 
pected! .  .  . 

.  .  .  Yes,  that's  why  I  say.     It  came  to  an  end!  .  .  . 
...  So  unexpected! 

.  .  .  She  isn't  to  blame.  That  has  always  been  my 
opinion  and  I  stick  to  it!  .  .  . 

.  .  .  She  could  have  left  her  husband.     I  don't  mind 
that.     Why  not?     But  today  with  the  one,  tomorrow 
with  the  other,  then  back  again  to  her  husband,  after 
that  again  with  the  lover  .  .  .  that  doesn't  do. 
.  Death  levels  everything. 
.  I'm  sorry  .  .  . 
.  And  the  child?  .  .  . 
.  Why  I  don't  mind,  I  only  say  ... 
.  Now  tell  me,  is  it  really  true? 
.  Absolutely. 
.  Yes,  indeed. 
.  They  made  no  secret  of  it. 


90  Nju 

.  .  .  The  money  .  .  . 
.  .  .  Impossible. 
.  .  .  Absolutely. 
.  .  .  Where? 

.  .  .  Death  levels  everything! 
...  Oh!    I  don't  mind.     I  only  say  .  .  . 
...  I  agree  with  you  and  the  bare  fact  that  she  has 
poisoned  herself  .  .  . 

...  I  have  my  doubts  about  that. 
.  .  .  There's  the  child. 

(Marie  carries  in  Kostja.  All  the  ladies  surround  him 
and  kiss  his  little  hand.) 

.  .  .  Poor  child! 

.  .  .  How  sweet  he  is. 

.  .  .  Marie,  doesn't  he  cry  at  all? 

Kostja  (Looking  at  the  ladies).  My  Mama  is  dead. 
I  don't  cry. 

The  Lady.    Good  heavens! 

.  .  .  You're  a  good  boy.     Yoi\  don't  cry  .  .  . 

.  .  .  The  dear  God  has  taken  your  Mama  to  his  home. 

Kostja.  There's  a  man  playing  on  a  hand-organ 
outside. 

(A  lady  begins  to  sob.  In  the  next  room  the  priest  can 
be  heard  praying.    Everything  is  silent.     The  general 


Nju  91 

stillness  is  suddenly  broken  by  His  voice.  He  speaks  to 
a  lady.  She  turns  half  round  to  him.  She  has  a  beautiful 
figure.) 

He  (To  the  lady).  I  love  this  sadness.  It  seems  to 
me  as  if  I  heard  time  flying  by  on  wings  .  .  .  Time. 

(He  turns  round  and  breaks  off  suddenly.  The  mass 
for  the  dead  has  begun.  The  Porter  brings  in  a  wreath. 
He  goes  awkwardly  through  the  room  on  tip-toe  and  lays  it 
down.) 


CURTAIN 


92  Nju 

Scene  X 

A  simply  furnished  parlor  of  an  unpretentious  house  in 
a  small  town.     The  home  of  Nju*s  parents.     It  is  evening. 

The  Father  {Reading  frotm,  Nju's  diary).  *'How 
terrible  death  is.  Everything  around  one  black  and 
cold.  The  whole  winter  long  no  one  will  visit  my 
grave.  And  when  the  spring  comes  I  shall  already  be 
forgotten  by  many.*' 

The  Mother.     By  many?  .  .  .  What  does  she  mean? 

The  Father.  "To  be  forgotten  .  .  .  You  too  my 
only  one,  my  beloved,  will  forget  me.  I  wronged  you 
so  frightfully." 

The  Mother.  Whom  does  she  mean  by  that,  her 
husband? 

The  Father.    No,  the  other. 

The  Mother.     Oh,  she  means  him,  the  scoundrel! 

The  Father.     Hush!    Let's  read  on. 

The  Mother.  And  after  all  this  she  says  she 
wronged  him.     My  daughter!    My  poor  daughter! 

The  Father.  Hush.  **I  wronged  you  so  fright- 
fully. I  dare  not  confess  it  to  you.  The  flower  you 
gave  me.     I  trampled  it  under  foot." 

The  Mother.  What  kind  of  flower?  And  even  if 
she  had  trampled  on  a  flower! 

The  Father.    There  is  something  behind  this. 


I 


Nju  93 

The  Mother.    When  did  she  write  this? 

The  Father.     On  the  27th  of  March. 

The  Mother.    Oh,  God!    Oh,  God! 

The  Father  (Reading).  "My  poor  parents  .  .  . 
dear,  tender  Mother  .  .  .  gracious  lady." 

The  Mother  {Looking  up  as  if  she  saw  her  and 
wanting  to  go  towards  her).     My  daughter. 

The  Father.  "Dear  gracious  lady.  Will  you  al- 
ways remember  this !  Oh  if  I  could  only  see  you  again, 
dear  little  mother  with  the  beautiful  white  hair!  ! 

The  Mother.     Yes,  she  often  called  me  that. 

The  Father.  "And  you  Father"  .  .  .  {He  breaks 
off  with  emotion). 

"You,  Father  ..." 

{Pause) 

The  Mother.    Oh,  God! 

The  Father.  Now  she  is  speaking  of  me.  "And 
you.  Father,  console  her.  You  must  not  be  angry 
with  me." 

{He  rises  and  walks  up  and  down  speaking  to  himself.) 

I  be  angry  with  you? 

The  Mother.     Why  didn't  she  write  to  us? 

The  Father.    Eh? 

The  Mother.     If  only  she  had  written  us  a  line. 

The  Father.     She  writes  to  us  here  in  her  diary. 


94  Nju 

The  Mother.  It  is  only  by  chance  it  has  fallen 
into  our  hands.     She  was  writing  to  herself. 

The  Father  {Reading  on).  "You  are  good  simple 
people,  with  simple  honest  hearts,  you  wouldn't  under- 
stand it  but  I  can't  go  on  living  like  this.  I  must  die. 
I  carry  a  new  life  within  me.  I  feel  myself  a 
mother  ..." 

The  Mother  (Horrified).    What? 

The  Father.     She  was  expecting  a  baby. 

The  Mother.     Of  the  scoundrel!    The  scoundrel! 

The  Father.  I  don't  understand  it.  It's  beyond  me. 

The  Mother  {Bending  over  the  diary).  Carry  a 
new  life  .  .  . 

The  Father  {Reads  with  her.  Both  voices  simul- 
taneously). "...  and  I  don't  know  by  whom  I 
have  it." 

{The  Father  goes  on  alone.) 

.  .  .  "I  don't  know  by  whom  I  have  it,  who  is  the 
father  of  my  child." 

{He  cries  out  wildly.) 

I  don't  understand  it.  Explain  it  to  me!  My  old 
brain  is  stupefied.  It  can't  grasp  all  this.  Explain 
it  to  me. 

The  Mother.  You  hear.  She  was  carrying  a 
child.    He  ruined  her. 


I 


Nju   ""'    '•'•''*  '••'•'95 

The  Father.  Who?  Who?  Read  for  yourself 
Mother  .  .  .  *'I  don't  know  by  whom  I  have  it  .  .  . 
who  is  the  father  of  my  child.  Enough  hypocrisy.  I 
am  low  and  bad;  I  must  die." 

The  Mother.    How  is  it  she  doesn't  .  .  . 

{She  breaks  off  and  covers  her  head  with  her  hands. 
She  experiences  shame  and  sorrow.) 

The  Father.  I  don't  understand  the  world.  Ex- 
plain it  to  me. 

The  Mother.     Now  she  is  dead! 

The  Father.  Do  you  remember,  do  you  remember 
when  she  was  nine  years  old  and  ran  around  in  her  bare 
feet,  our  little  Nju,  our  darling?  Is  it  really  she? 
How  is  it  ppssible? 

The  Mother.    She  is  dead.    Let  her  be. 

The  Father.  We  must  burn  this  so  that  nobody 
will  ever  read  it.  She  never  loved  neither  her  husband, 
nor  her  lover,  nor  her  child,  nor  you  either  .  .  .  little 
mother,  little  mother.  She  never  loved.  This  hard 
heart.  Whom  did  she  take  after?  My  daughter,  my 
blood.    After  whom? 

The  Mother.    I  won't  allow  you  to  burn  it. 

The  Father.    Nobody  must  ever  read  it. 

The  Mother.    I  won't  allow  it. 

The  Father.    All  you  women  stand  by  each  other. 


96  Nju 

The  Mother.    Oh,  let  be,  let  be. 

{First  reads  to  herself y  then  aloud.) 

"  I  see  before  me  our  house,  the  dining  room,  the 
clock  and  the  yellow  cupboard.  I  say  farewell  to  you 
old  things.  I  kiss  you.  Mother,  say  goodbye  to  our 
dear  large  table  and  all  the  chairs  and  my  room  for  me." 

{She  controls  tears  and  continues.) 

"Especially  my  room.  Mother.  In  the  evening,  when 
Papa  is  sleeping,  I  shall  go  in  the  dark  into  my  room. 
Don't  be  afraid  and  I  shall  stroke  the  walls  and  my 
window  seat.  Tell  them  I  am  no  more  and  that  I 
wish  them  well.  How  many  hours  I've  dreamed 
away  like  this  and  awaited  my  happiness !  Oh,  Mother, 
Mother,  I  am  so  lonely.  When  I  am  dead  I  shall  come 
back  to  you.  When  you,  my  dear,  gentle  old  people 
are  quite  alone  and  are  weeping  over  me,  then  I  shall 
creep  quietly  behind  your  chair.  Mother!  And  gently 
and  tenderly  I  shall  stroke  your  white  hair  so  that  you 
won*t  notice  anything. 

The  Father  {Sobbing).  I  don't  understand  it  .  .  . 
Explain  it  all  to  me. 

The  Mother.    She  is  here!    She  is  with  us  .  .  . 

{The  clock  strikes.) 

CURTAIN 


/. 


.1^ 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed.  i^J^/ZF^j 

Renewed  books  are  subjea  to  immediate  recall. 


OCT1119673 


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